Soon enough,
the quarter mark will pass.
Until then, the seasons continue
their relentless passage, paid on orbital time.
Like ministrels, bent and crooked from their
travels down dusty, unpaved paths,
the soft blue tassels of their cherry lutes
singing, still, their slow sad songs,
their make and matter never-changing.
So long the sentience of slumbering plains,
their impermanence steadfast as the turn
of salted, faded sails,
blown and turned back by unweary winds.
It is easy to forget
the gentile slants of sloping hillocks
the stinging slap of well-worn words,
or the subtle flats of your soft, rounded bones.
It is easy to forget
the principal beauty behind your perfidious smile,
the principal that lies beneath your slender-hearted breath.
It is easy to forget,
It is easier to forget
and run, gliding on the rise of rend'ring waves,
away from pan-fluted memories, swelling and falling.
Oh, how have you stained this world,
sown seeds of fearing 'neath rock, moss and stone.
Maslow, his law long deceiving before his time,
the cunning old fool;
Upon his sly pyramid I weave
over devious sheens of your sacrificial skin:
the deluge of his blue, secretive scheme.
----------
It's been some time.
thought it's "Maslow" instead of Maslov??
